Surprises are Always Fun
by Draegwyn
Summary: There's a lot that people think they know about Sawada Tsunayoshi. Like the fact that he's unusually bad at everything. And that he has the weirdest habits. And the strangest family. But 'Dame Tsuna's' many and varied associates are about to learn that there is far more to the class loser than they ever imagined. A series of one shots focusing on people learning about the mafia.
1. Chapter 1

**AN- Wow, I've finally finished my first fanfic. I love KHR, and I love the idea of Tsuna's classmates finding out the truth about him - there's so much material to work with! Anyway, this will be a series of one shots centred around various people discovering the mafia. I don't actually know the names of Tsuna's classmates so I've just made some up. Most of the time it will be individual people, not the whole class, and I've tried to keep away from the 'class reunion' situation and be as imaginative as possible. Having said that, this first story is still pretty generic - don't worry, I've got a ton of really interesting ideas. Unless they directly influence the plot, I won't put in any pairings, as I don't want to get too OOC. **

**So, this scenario takes place sometime in their third year of Middle School. Let's say that Tsuna hasn't taken over as Decimo yet, but that he's been pressured into accepting a bit more responsibility. I hope you enjoy the story!**

_It's Always the Quiet Ones_

I stormed out of the classroom, ignoring Nezu-sensei's outraged shout behind me. It wasn't like he'd do anything. After all, hadn't Dame-Tsuna done the same thing ten minutes ago? He'd just pushed himself up, shut his stuff, and run off without so much as a by your leave. Now, I never was a fan of Nezu - too obsequious - but I've always thought you should respect teachers.

To start with, I put it down to the fact that Physics was one of the few classes Tsuna had without any of his odd friends. The kid was probably so dumb he couldn't manage without copying one of them; I reckoned it was Gokudera, the genius delinquent who, despite being both moody and quite hot, still idolised the class idiot like a lost puppy.

I tried not to let Tsuna bother me - I never cared about working in school, so I could hardly blame others for feeling the same. But I was always smart enough to pass, and so I always knew that I'd do alright. Tsuna just irritated me because the moron wasn't bright yet still spent all his time dreaming. What was he planning to do in life? I guess I thought he didn't take things seriously enough.

Tsuna - Sawada-kun, I called him then - was actually often in my mind. Really, he just got under my skin. And although I never bullied him, I certainly never stopped it. I didn't have much sympathy for weakness. I had noticed his gradual accumulation of a rather bizarre friendship group, consisting of Yamamoto Takeshi and both Sasagawas, but I never investigated. As far as I was concerned, the kid was useless and would always be useless.

So there I was, in the dullest Physics lesson known to mankind, with the knowledge that the student who needed the lesson the most was galavanting off somewhere, doing nothing (or so I thought). And my temper is short. So, seeing as Sawada seemed to not get in trouble, I followed suit. Nezu nearly dropped in surprise when I, the quiet and biddable Sera-chan, also slapped my stuff on my desk and stalked out the room.

My intentions were clear in my mind - I was going to find that Dame-Tsuna and give him a piece of my mind. I reckoned that he was probably on the roof with the delinquents, and I sighed. He was such a wannabe. Seriously, I remember thinking that the brat was so scrawny that he couldn't hurt a fly.

Moving quickly, I marched down the corridor. Everyone was in lessons, so I expected it to be pretty quiet, but I could hear noises from above. Was a class doing a play? Suddenly there were thumps from the stairwell further back up the corridor, and I ducked into an alcove in case it was a teacher. Or worse, Hibari Kyoya, the demon prefect. A teacher might have not questioned the fact I was out of class - Hibari-senpai most certainly would have. The thumps grew louder as the person reached the top of the stairs and ran along the corridor in my direction. There were two sets of stairs, one at either end. One set - the one that my mystery friend had come up, went from the ground to third floors. The other set, which, by the sounds of it, both they and I were headed for, was smaller and went from this (the third floor), to the roof, stopping off at a few fourth floor classes along the way. So, I mused, was this guy (I assumed it was a man) headed for the roof or the fourth floor?

However, before he could run past me and allow me to see him, the door of the classroom opposite opened, prompting me to drop to the floor, where I was (fortunately) concealed by some boxes. The running guy squealed to a halt as another person swung out the door right into his path, virtually on a collision course. Then, as they both realised who the other was, there was a surprised, 'Gokudera?'

'Tch, baseball idiot,' was the reply. And sure enough, as I peeked tentatively round my protective crates, there were Yamamoto Takeshi and Gokudera Hayato, two of Dame-Tsuna's friends.

'So you got Jyuudaime's message then?' Gokudera said, as the two moved towards the stairwell. I thought it was weird that there wasn't more arguing - I could have sworn those two virtually despised each other. 'Hai,' said Yamamoto, his face lacking the cheerful grin that normally illuminated his face. This time, his eyes were set and harsh. An involuntary shiver ran down my back.

'It's the Piagarmi, right?' He asked. 'Mmm,' was the laconic Gokudera's only response. Seems he wasn't all that talkative when he didn't have his beloved 'Jyuudaime' (what?) with him.

'So they finally made good on their threat, hnn? Man, Tsuna won't be happy.'

This confused me, and they were moving out of earshot, so I crept quietly behind them. I needn't have worried. They were both so intent on moving forward they were oblivious, and so their incomprehensible conversation continued.

'They took advantage of the Tenth's leniency!'

That was Gokudera, and he sounded annoyed. I scoffed, doubting the seriousness of the situation. I couldn't imagine _Dame-Tsuna_ to ever be in a position where he could be 'lenient'. They were well up the stairs now - damn they moved fast - and I couldn't risk being spotted on the stairwell. That was the last I heard before they shoved open the door and headed outside to the roof, which was, I realized, where the banging was coming from. At the time I reckoned it was Hibari chewing Tsuna out for missing lessons. In which case, Yamamoto and Gokudera would hardly be much use. No one was, not against Mister 'bite you to death'. Slowly, I made my way up the stairs, careful not to make too much noise. Something about the unlikely friends' brief exchange earlier had piqued my interest; for starters, what (or who) was the Piagarmi?

Finally reaching the top of the stairs, which the boys seemed to have managed extraordinarily quickly, I paused with my hands on the roof door. It really was _very_ noisy out there. Something deep within me, a sort of pull, told me not to open that door, that more was happening behind it than I wanted to know. Naturally, as a rational person, I instantly dismissed the feeling. I know better than that now, and I often wonder just how different I'd be had I not, ever so surreptitiously, pushed that door open.

Stepping out, it got a little noisier. OK, a lot noisier. I briefly registered some guns, some black suited men, and a freaking _helicopter_ before I was unceremoniously pushed to the side. And by the ominous cracking above me, which I knew instinctively to be gunfire, I also realised that the person currently on top of me had just saved my life.

I stared, shell shocked and on the verge of hyperventilating, at the kid who'd protected me. Dame-Tuna's honest brown eyes stared widely back. But before I could move, or even register what the _hell_ was going on, he'd pushed himself up and turned, empty handed and weaponless, into a line of gunmen. Bizarrely, I managed to notice that he was wearing a pair of woollen mittens, though I didn't consider why.

Then he spoke. I'd expected a plea. Possibly a squeal. Even tears. What I'd never expected was him to say, calmly, as if he dealt with these issues daily, 'Stop'.

And then, 'That's enough. I've given fair warning. You do **not** hurt civilians.'

Dimly, I took in the fact that, apparently, I was a civilian while he was not, though I was far more taken with the way he said it. His voice was low, smooth, and his whole body was completely focused - not tensed - on the situation in front. He really didn't look like Tsuna at all.

And then (I saw it as if in slow motion, sprawled on the floor where I couldn't seem to move), he burst into flame.

Well, not all of him.

His eyes had been narrowed already, but suddenly, they became half-lidded and turned an unnatural orange. A ferocious orange flame burst to life on his forehead, yet somehow didn't set his hair on fire. And his gloves changed, becoming darker, before they, too, started sporting the same incandescent fire that sparked and danced on his fringe.

It was beautiful, but also strangely scary. Even more strangely scary was his sudden push forward, as he moved towards the gunmen at incredible speed. I saw a blur, a darting orange blur, dancing between the black suited men, and the next thing I knew, 13 men collapsed in various artistic positions. And Sawada Tsunayoshi, the kid who truly couldn't do anything, stood, burning, in the centre of a circle of unconscious hitmen.

I'm pretty sure I didn't do anything as stupid as pinching myself, but I damn near came close to it, as Tsuna looked back at me through eyes with a colour that roughly matched your average satsuma. Then he moved across to where I lay, still, like some pathetic idiot. I remember thinking, wryly, that I'd never before thought that I could be considered the pathetic idiot of the two of us.

'Sera-chan, are you alright?' he asked, and I shivered. I noticed that his flames had gone, and that his eyes had faded back to brown. He still wasn't talking like normal Tsuna though - his eyes were deadly serious and, as I dumbly took his extended hand, I could feel the anger thrumming in his body, though it wasn't directed at me. 'I'm sorry,' he said, before my poor scrambled brain could sort out any of the things that I wanted - no, needed - to ask him.

I gaped a little; was he implying this was his fault? How? But before I could ask, Yamamoto and Gokudera came through the roof door. _Wait a second_, I thought, I_ followed them though! How did they get there again?_ But before I could fully consider this, Tsuna spoke. 'Have they been dealt with?' His tone was authoritative, and he did look, I thought, like a boss.

'Tch,' said Gokudera, his hair sticking up a bit, 'they were small fry. The Piagarmi always was petty.'

'Where are they now?'

'In the Disciplinary Committee Office,' said Yamamoto. 'Hibari's 'watching' them.'

'You mean scaring the living day lights out of them.' Tsuna sighed, then reached for his pocket, pulling out a mobile. 'I suppose we'd better clean up then.' He quickly dialled a number, while I continued to puzzle over what I was fondly referring to as the Teleporting Duo.

'Buongiorno, Basil-kun,' he said, speaking confidently. 'There's been a situation at school. Can you get a cleanup organised?... No, there's no real damage. We'll also need some cells for a bit, is that OK?... Yes, it was the Piagarmi… As we thought, not up to much…. Yes, I'm calling them now. That's fine. Grazie.' Tsuna hung up, then dialled another number. He held the phone to his ear, then, as it rang, appeared to think better of it, and moved it about a foot and a half away from his ear. I soon found out why.

'VOOOOIII!', came the incredibly loud shout from the phone, then, 'WHAT'S UP, BRAT?!' That was all I heard from the mystery voice (ah, Squalo, how you amuse me, even now), as Tsuna apparently deemed it safe enough to hold the phone to his ear. 'Hello, Squalo,' he said, admirably calm, 'still stealing Xanxus' phone, I see. Can you pass a message?... Good. Tell him the Piagarmi need a visit…. Yes, you were right, for once. There was no talking to them. I need you to deliver them some goods they tried to push off on us… Yes, delivered _alive_. And no, no - don't kill! I just want to take down the family.… Mm, scaring is absolutely fine. Ok? Arigatou, Squalo…. Ciao!'

I've heard so many conversations like that now (heck, I've made a few myself), that it seems a ridiculous thing to get het up over. But at the time….. My classmate had the power to kill people with a phone call. To _kill_. Even if he didn't use it, that was still terrifying.

Even as I thought this, Tsuna was phoning someone else. This person obviously was aware of what was going on, as Tsuna, after listening, went straight in with, 'Hai, they've been taken care of….. Look, Hibari, there's a team coming to collect them, so please hand them over without biting anybody… Don't worry, they're not getting mercy.' He rang off. I suppose, after discovering that Sawada was some sort of criminal leader (what else could he be?), finding out that he obviously garnered respect from the demon that is Hibari Kyoya shouldn't have made the impact that it did. But I guess it was the straw that broke the camel's back, because my brain suddenly remembered how to move my tongue and I yelled, 'Who the hell _are_ you people?!'

The three of them looked at me, Gokudera and Tamamoto obviously seeing me for the first time. I decided that they must have, for some reason, jumped off the roof earlier. As it turned out, they had (to chase some other small fry). 'Sera?' asked Yamamoto. I crossed my arms to hide my sudden nerves and frowned at them. 'Are you yakuza?' I inquired. Gokudera seemed to have a mini seizure. 'Of course not, baka-onna! What sort of low-lifes do you think we are?'

'Calm down, Hayato,' instructed Tsuna, and the angsty teen did so. 'Sera-chan, we're not yakuza, but you're on the right lines. We're mafia.' I'm quite proud of the fact that I managed to keep my composure and remain as calm as he seemed to be while saying that, while inside I was being ripped apart by a mass of confusion and awe. I knew about the mafia. They were _big_. I cast about for something vaguely dignified to say.

'OK,' I finally settled on, 'so why were you fighting in school?' Tsuna sighed and ran a hand through his rather unkempt hair. 'The Piagarmi Famiglia is a rival of ours,' he explained. Gokudera snorted at this, and Tsuna frowned at him. 'Ok, not a very big rival, but….. Anyway, they've been pretending to negotiate with us in order to find and assassinate me. This,' he said, gesturing with a hand to the general carnage around us, 'was their attempt.'

Yet another information overload. My unfortunate brain struggled to reconcile so many different ideas. I stayed quiet for such a long time that Yamamoto said, 'you're probably in shock. You should come inside and sit down.' So in I went, and, let me tell you, none of us made it back to classes that day. We sat in an empty office, and they answered one question of mine after another. Once I had my head around the idea (which took a while - I kept saying stupid things like 'but _huh_?!' ),I wanted to know everything. And while they wouldn't tell me everything, I did learn some amazing stuff. Like the fact that the Vongola's the most influential family. That Tsuna spoke, at the time, virtually fluent Italian. That his tutor was a baby hitman. That Hibari, Chrome, Kyoko, Ryohei, and Dino-sensei were all in on it. The list goes on, although now I confuse it with things I learned gradually afterwards.

I didn't immediately jump into the mafia of anything like that. In fact, I didn't even speak to them that much afterwards, I just promised I wouldn't say anything. But I used my words. I've always been good with them, so every time anyone in their group came under scrutiny, I'd talk them out of it. I defended Tsuna, verbally, in class, while he wasn't around. And I realised that I loved using words to change people's minds, so I became a lawyer. And really, after graduation, I heard nothing of the young Vongola Tenth Generation for a long time

Then, when I was in my mid twenties, struggling slightly as a lawyer, I received a call. It was Tsuna, for the first time in about ten years. He had a job offer. A member of his Famiglia had got into a spot of bother, and I saw the chance to repay my debt to him, though why he called me I'm still not sure. He once put it down to his hyper intuition. So I took the case, expecting it to be easy. It wasn't. But I've never enjoyed a legal battle more. And after my hard won victory, when I was offered an official position as a Vongola attorney, I took it, and I haven't looked back since. I've made a good life for myself, though even now, when I say, 'I'm in the mafia', to myself, I can't quite believe it, though it's the place where I eventually met my husband and settled down. I owe one Sawada Tsunayoshi a heck of a lot, and nobody will ever convince me otherwise.

**AN- Well? What did you think? Please let me know! I'll try and post weekly or so, but reviews would really inspire me. I won't do every story in first person, and I'll try and vary the timescale- there will be some TYL and beyond. Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN - Well, this is a much faster update than planned! Thanks so much for the amazing response I've had, especially to those who've reviewed! Anyway, this chapter takes place TYL, and I hope that you enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it!**

_What You're Looking for May Be Right Under Your Nose_

Oikawa Makoto was a patient person, by his own estimation. Unlike some of the other morons in his class at Namichuu Middle, he'd liked to think that he gave everyone the benefit of the doubt, and tried to see the best in people. But, looking back to a time almost 10 years ago now, there were some occasions where he cringed to think of his behaviour.

The case of Dame-Tsuna was one of those occasions.

….Really, it hadn't been his proudest moment. He didn't like to think of it.

But then, thinking of that time at all brought back rivers of bad memories. Makoto's childhood hadn't exactly been….. easy. His decidedly uncaring father was a yakuza leader, and an important one too.

Makoto had grown up with hazy memories of tattooed hulks crowded round his dimly lit kitchen table; with the knowledge that his father had killed, and would kill again. To start with, it had all been terribly exciting for him, giving him a sense of superiority to his various first school playmates. But that had all changed, one horrible day while he was at school. A drunk, angry, stupid member of the yakuza group, a true arrogant idiot, had come into his house, trying to kill his father, waving a gun around.

Makoto's rather delicate, waif like mother had been caught in the crossfire.

When he'd come home that day, Makoto had seen his father, hulking and impassive, standing over two corpses, that of the yakuza and his mother. The police were not called. Makoto's mother had died as she had lived, virtually unnoticed by all.

She was buried. The yakuza's body was discarded, and found a few weeks later by some first school students exploring the river bank.

That day, Makoto had seen the truly dark and dismal side of the underworld. Whereas before, he'd felt superior to his friends, now all he felt was the unfathomable pain that came from knowing that his life was already on an irreversibly different path from others his age. From that day, his stoic and unaffected father had involved him in yakuza matters as well. Petty feuds. Robberies. Inter gang arguments that escalated into gunfights.

So he had sunk, grief stricken, into an unwilling life of rather petty crime, for the yakuza were, in terms of underworld groups, rather low down.

He'd been in a state of quiet despair - sadness made him meek and withdrawn, not uncontrollable - when he'd heard of the mafia. Or more specifically, the Vongola Famiglia. The rulers of the criminal world, as Makoto always thought of them. The yakuza grew up with that term - mafia- in their heads. It hung on their shoulders as they went about from day to day. The mafia were the elite groups of the underworld. International, seemingly omniscient, omnipotent, and omnipresent, the secretive yet powerful families sat like gods in the more petty criminal minds. What's more, the Vongola were vigilantes as well, and, in a young Makoto's eyes, they were the guardians of the darker side of civilisation.

For a depressed young yakuza stuck in a life of pathetic criminal activity with no future to speak of, the mafia seemed like a way out. A chance to rise at least, to get above the degrading work he was currently doing. But Makoto knew that, to even be a mafia grunt, he'd need to be on a whole different level - of a wholly different mindset - to his current yakuza colleagues.

So he worked. He trained. He studied hard. Makoto had some natural intellect, and had taught himself Italian. He specialised in long range shooting, but also got his karate black belt, among other, dirtier types of fighting. He cultivated a calm, collected attitude to danger. He worked on taking orders without being sycophantic. And when his chance came, he took it. His father had gotten a little to big for his boots, and had tried to challenge the small Cesate Famiglia while Makoto was still in high school. Makoto had received his bullet ridden body the next day, along with a gilt edged calling card kindly requesting that such a distasteful occurrence not happen again. And so, after calling the number on the card, going through numerous trials, and virtually pushing himself to the brink of hell, here he was. In the mafia.

It hadn't been easy, Makoto reflected. He was proud of himself, where he was now, but it had been a wholly uphill struggle. But he was a respected member of the Cesate family, a small yet stable mafia Famiglia which was, importantly, looking into alliances with the Vongola. As Makoto had never given up on his middle school dream of joining the elite family, he was actually feeling pretty were looking up. More exactly, things were very, very busy.

So why, exactly, he questioned, was he thinking about Namichuu Middle and Dame-Tsuna?

Makoto sighed against the balcony he was leaning on. The cold night wind tried to gently tousle his close-cropped black hair, to no avail. It did, however, succeed in sending shivers round his body, forcing him to huddle further into his leather jacket and take another drag on his cigarette. As he watched the smoke twist slowly upwards to curl around the stars, he frowned. He'd left most of his old life behind after quitting school, and the memories had faded just as quickly. Yet this one wouldn't.

It had been while he was in his first year of high school. That year had been the hardest for him, as he'd been trying to train for the mafia while the pressures from his father had mounted up. The stress had made him unusually irritable, and he hadn't been in the mood for his year's set of bullies to drag their latest prey into his private lunch class one day.

He quickly recognised the bullies as Kotaro Seiko, Kaneda Osamu and Minoru Nara, and their miserable prey as Sawada Tsunayoshi. He'd scowled, as he'd had no love for any of them.

Seiko, Osamu and Nara had been friends throughout middle school, and they had not got any less obnoxious, in Makoto's opinion. They were weak, spineless morons who only picked on those they knew they'd win against, but who got by in school on sporting ability, and, in the case of the female population, their good looks. Makoto had had the misfortune of sharing a class with then all through middle school, and he despised them for their frivolous attitude.

But the hate he held for them was nothing compared to the distaste he felt for their victim, one Dame-Tsuna.

Now, ten years hence, Makoto felt no such anger towards his old classmate. He understood that he'd just been jealous ofTsuna's ability to live a normal life. Because that's exactly what had bothered him: that Sawada had the opportunity to live an unsullied life, not having to feel the darkness Makoto always carried around with him. And, in Makoto's eyes, that Dame-Tsuna was wasting it, paying no attention in class, letting himself get walked all over by pathetic idiots like the baka trio. Makoto didn't know if he could forgive the dame moron for not being more grateful.

At the time, he'd felt perfectly justified in what he did next. Almost ten years later, as a much more balanced adult, Makoto couldn't even begin to count the amount of times he'd regretted his behaviour that day.

The three bullies were ignoring Makoto, so intent they were on their prey, but Tsuna had noticed the antisocial boy steaming with anger in the corner. And his big brown eyes had pleaded for help. Many a time over the last few years had Makoto reckoned that the boy had actually refrained from calling for help from him then in order to keep Makoto out of trouble, and the thought made him feel worse. But anyway, as the three laid into Tsuna with all their might, yelling abuse at him, Makoto had quietly stood up, walked over, and silenced one if them (Seiko) with an efficient (if overenthusiastic) uppercut to the jaw.

Seiko's graceful collapse had had the effect of drawing attention to him instead of Tsuna, which suited Makoto fine. Instead of waiting for the rather shocked Nara or Osamu to speak, he growled a fierce, 'Shut the _**hell **_up,' before dispatching them with a roundhouse kick to the stomach and a chop to the back of the head.

He stood there for a second, still seething with anger, while a rather battered Tsuna pushed himself up from the floor and said, in such a pathetically weak voice it made Makoto's blood boil, 'A-a-arigatou.'

In a rage, Makoto whirled round. One arm ducked under the smaller boy's chin and pinned him to the wall while the other fist swung into Tsuna's stomach with a frightening ferocity, forcing to boy to twist and wretch while clamped by Makoto's forearm.

'Look, _weakling,' _Makoto hissed, his narrowed eyes staring into Tsuna's larger panicked ones, 'stay the _hell _out of my way. In fact, stay the hell out of everyone's way. You have no clue, **no idea, **what it's like to truly suffer, so quit mewling about petty things like this. You hear me? Stay _away _from me.'

And with Tsuna's uncomprehending eyes burned into his memory, he dropped the brunette and stalked out.

Now, standing on the third floor balcony of a hired mansion at 11:37 at night, Makoto felt familiar pangs of regret pulling at his chest, and he clutched at his heart. It had been nine years, one month and twenty three days since that event, but it was engraved on Makoto's memory as one of the most shameful days of his life.

He could still remember how fragile the boy had felt under his arm. True, he had been heavier than expected, but still…. So breakable. And Makoto had done more than enough breaking throughout his life. What if he'd broken his innocent classmate as well? He could still feel the sickening impact of his fist against Tsuna's stomach - it was a miracle that the boy had remained conscious, really. He must have had more guts than Makoto gave him credit for.

Now he thought about it, Tsuna actually hadn't normally been bullied that much. He'd had his own odd friendship circle, and the presence of Yamamoto Takeshi had made a rather effective shield against Tsuna and his tormentors. He guessed that even the best protection couldn't be there all the time though. For the ten thousandth time, he wondered where Tsuna was, and if he was OK. And if he'd forgiven him.

Trying to put these unwelcome thoughts out of his head, Makoto made an attempt to think forward. It was hardly difficult for him to be excited about the future, after all. The mansion he was in at the moment, a few miles away from Dubrovnik, in Croatia, had been hired as a non-biased communal meeting place for the Cesate and the Vongola Famiglias. If all went well, by the end of this weekend, he would be in an alliance with the world's most influential family. And after that, who knew? Makoto tried not to let himself think too far ahead, but various scenarios filled his head - being spotted by one of the Vongola guardians, meeting the infamous Decimo, joining the Vongola itself…. It seemed like a world of possibilities were opening up before him.

In fact, he knew that the Vongola were actually already here. The two families had agreed not to meet until 10:30 the next morning, but the murmur was that some pretty elite members were here. Some even said the Tenth himself, but Makoto had to laughingly dismiss those rumours. As if the most powerful criminal in the world would be attending such a small alliance!

However, he couldn't deny that the reason he was here, on the neutral third floor (second was theirs, fourth was Vongola's) was in the rather infantile hope of speaking to one of them in a more informal setting. But, as he'd now been here for two hours without seeing anything of any of them, it seemed that the Vongola reputation for secrecy was well deserved.

Sighing again, he turned back to leaning on the balcony, straining in the darkness to see the odd light in the distance that showed the location of other villas. Then, he heard someone behind him. Or rather, he felt someone. The footsteps of the mystery person behind him were far too soft to alert him like this person did.

As a long-time criminal, Makoto had become rather attuned to other people. He found that people projected a sort of natural atmosphere - some screamed danger, others fear - and he prided himself on being adept at reading it. But he had never, _never, _felt an aura anything like that of the person behind him. He felt at once that they did not mean him harm, but he could also sense, by the hair rising on the back of his neck, that they were incredibly dangerous. They still, however, managed to come across as bizarrely gentle and unthreatening, leaving Makoto stranded as to where to categorise them.

As he frantically wondered whether of not to turn round - he seemed oddly frozen - the man, as he turned out to be, spoke. 'It's a beautiful night.' His voice was low, yet delicate, a bit like silk. Makoto realised how ridiculous he sounded, comparing a voice to fabric, but, in the still of a silent, starlit countryside, everything seemed to take on a more surreal feel.

The man stepped up to the balcony, and looked up at the stars, allowing Makoto to surreptitiously glance at him, though his face was still hidden by the large collar of his tailored black suit. He was short, Makoto thought, for such an imposing aura - the guy was under 6 foot, and had a lean frame, though the suit made it impossible to see whether he was toned or skinny, and a quick once over revealed no obvious firearms. His hair was brown, nothing special, just an even light brown, and it stuck up in bizarre places all over his head. His overall appearance, from his slim hands to his pale skin, when combined with the fact that he was being viewed in the dark and the moonlight, was one that had a slightly supernatural quality; but, Makoto's more logical side inserted, that was probably largely due to Makoto being rather overtired.

In actual fact, the man's appearance bore an immediate resemblance to that of a certain weakling of ten years ago. Makoto started when that thought crossed his mind; the build and hair colour were, after all, the only way in which this person resembled Sawada Tsunayoshi. The aura virtually eradicated all possible chance of this man being the kid he'd once punched in the stomach. The two figures, in his mind, logically had no connection.

So why, he wondered almost immediately, did he open his mouth and tentatively say, 'Sawada-san?'

He regretted saying those words. The rational part of him told him that it was just a stupid thing to say; that there was no way these two were one and the same, but deep down, a more honest part of him acknowledged that he was scared to find out. The truly nice part of Makoto - the part that had ensured that he'd never hurt an innocent before or since that dreadful day in high school - told him that he was too afraid, and had always been too afraid, to face up to his mistakes.

The man turned towards him, and looked him in the eye, and Makoto saw that it was indeed Sawada Tsunayoshi. Sure, it was an older, and far different version of the school loser to what anybody would have imagined, but those honest eyes could not be mistaken for anybody else. They pierced right through him, bringing up all his guilt, all his uncertainty, and yet they remained calm, still with that hint of innocence. And Makoto didn't know what to do or what to think, and his heart was pounding, and every excuse he'd ever thought of flew from the tip of his tongue right out of his head, so that, in the end, all he said was, 'I'm so, _so_ sorry.'

He looked away, unable to see the disgust and hatred he was sure those open eyes would be displaying. His hands were clenched, clamped onto the balcony so hard his knuckles were white, and his stomach churned. And then Tsuna spoke. 'Makoto-san.' He said. Makoto nearly collapsed, and looked back at the small brunette. He knew that Tsuna, too, remembered that one day when Makoto snapped, and he could tell it was just as prominent in his mind as it so often had been in Makoto's. But that was not why he was shocked. He was shocked at the way Tsuna had addressed him.

For the tone Tsuna had used had held no malice, no resentment, no bitter pain - he had spoken almost kindly. And when Makoto made eye contact again, his face slack and gaping, Tsuna's eyes crinkled into a genuine, open, I'm-glad-to-see-you smile, and he said, 'It's been such a long time! How have you been?'

If it had been anyone else, Makoto would have been sure that there was deep-seated hatred beneath a false façade of kindness, but while Tsuna had been many things, he had always been an open book. Makoto had always thought being easy to read was a terrible quality for a mafioso, but looking at this strange new Sawada Tsunayoshi, he could see how you could make it work.

It was with a dry mouth that Makoto replied, because while Tsuna obviously was not surprised to see him, words could not express Makoto's utter shock at seeing Tsuna. 'You…you're….in the mafia? Um…and…how, how….you're not surprised to see me?'

He winced at how nervous and stuttering he came out. He sounded just like Tsuna had in high school. But Tsuna just smiled again, and leant back against the balcony, looking up again. 'You were in the yakuza, weren't you, Makoto-san?', he said, more stating than asking. 'I checked,' he added, before Makoto could stutter out his next question. 'You seemed so angry…that day, so I looked into your records a bit. Gomennasai.' With his serene smile, he looked anything but sorry, but before he could continue, Makoto burst out, unable to contain himself, 'But I _hurt_ you! Weren't you…annoyed?'

But Tsuna just screwed up his face in a long suffering grimace, and said, 'Actually, my tutor had a habit of hitting much harder than that. Don't worry, I was fine.' And before Makoto could begin to start processing the fact that Tsuna had cared more about Makoto's emotional well being than his own physical health, Tsuna continued, with his sunny smile back in place, 'So, anyway….I found out that you were in the yakuza.' He looked at Makoto again, compassion and understanding in his gaze. 'I'm sorry. That must have been difficult.' He obviously took Makoto's slack jawed expression as confirmation, as he continued, 'I hoped that Makoto-San would make it in to the mafia one day. I'm really glad you made it.'

Makoto had had enough touchy conversations to read between the lines when someone said something, and so he easily identified the fact that 'hoped' meant 'actively tried to help'. But instead of next asking, as he intended, 'What did you do?', what he come out with was, 'Who _are _you?'

And as Tsuna opened his mouth to speak, Makoto realised that he knew exactly what was coming, because there was only one possible person that this Tsuna could be, even though the very idea made Makoto reel in shock.

'Vongola Decimo,' Tsuna said, extending his hand to the frozen person opposite him. And as Makoto limply shook it, he felt in that hand all the trials and hard decisions and struggles that Tsuna had gone through, and marvelled at how blind he'd been back on high school; either that or how good Tsuna had been at maintaining his dame act.

'When did you change?' Makoto asked, because he suddenly found that he had the strength to speak. He'd felt the friendship and forgiveness radiating off the slight figure in front of him, and, on the face of it, the large weight on his chest that he didn't even know he'd been carrying had disappeared. It felt like his old dark life was finally behind him - he felt freer than he had done in years.

'It took a while,' Tsuna said. 'I clung to normalcy for ages.' So that was why he'd maintained the useless act. Well, he'd fooled Makoto. 'But eventually, I realised I couldn't run forever. But,' he added with a grin, 'I really was dame when I started middle school! I couldn't do anything!'

Tsuna smiled, a large, happy smile that made Makoto think the stars that the brunette had been fixated by were somehow caught in his eyes. And Makoto grinned back, a poor thing when compared with Tsuna's, but a happier smile than in a long time. 'Anyway,' Tsuna said, suddenly yawning and breaking the spell, 'I'd really better get to bed. I can guarantee that Kyoya will have broken _something_ by tomorrow, and I'll need sleep before dealing with him.'

Makoto didn't really take in what Tsuna was saying; he just asked, 'Will you be at the negotiations?' Tsuna shook his head. 'No, Chrome's representing me. I just dropped by to tell her something. I'd better get going.' He turned, and started walking towards the door, then he stopped, and looked over his shoulder. Reaching into his inside jacket pocket, he pulled out a small white card, with one stark black number on it. He handed it to Makoto, who cradled it reverently. 'That'll take you to Collonello,' he said. 'I send most potential recruits to him.' He shrugged. 'Just something for you to think about. See you.' And with that, he stepped into the darkness of the corridor and vanished. But not before Makoto saw the small smile on his face, which matched the elated grin growing on his own. Clutching the card to his chest, he gazed back out over the balcony at the moonlit countryside, appreciating the beautiful view anew. And, a few minutes later, he thought he saw a flying orange blur in the distance, almost like a shooting star. Makoto smiled again, and, as the fiery orange dot shot into the horizon, Makoto felt that his spirit, too, was blazing in the sky.

**Well? I hope you liked it! I'm planning on making the next one a little less deep - I want to include a range of genres. As for the three bullies, they'll get their own stories. Reviews are treated with awe, and if anyone has any ideas or suggestions for scenarios I'd love to hear them! Thank you for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN - Sorry about the late update! That's the problem with A levels - you have so little free time. Anyway (finally) here is the next chapter. I think that this idea has sort of been done before, so sorry about that, but hopefully I've still managed to write something original. Also, I apologise in advance for the length of this story, but I just couldn't get it any shorter. I hope you enjoy it! Also, since I've forgotten a disclaimer so far: I hate to ruin your image of me, but I don't actually own KHR (spoiler!).**

_And the Cycle Repeats_

Orochi Kumo didn't care if it broke all the laws of the teaching code, he was going to kill that damned cow of a student. And he was going to enjoy it. Shutting his eyes, he allowed himself to enjoy the image of the snotty brat's face twisted in fear instead of smirking like usual. He sniffed deeply, seeing the terror and respect that was normally absent from one 15 year old Bovino Lambo's eyes, and it sent thrills up and down his back. However, his happy fantasy could not last. His class - the retarded _little brats _- were already starting to murmur to each other, and amongst the mutterings Kumo could pick out the one voice he despised above all others.

'What's wrong with Slimy-sensei, d'ya think?' As if by magic, Kumo could hear every word the little idiot said, including his cruel nickname. 'He looks pretty unwell.'

Kumo perked up a little; was the brat actually being considerate? He'd need to be a lot more considerate, though, if he ever wanted his teacher's acceptance. But before Kumo could delve into another fantasy featuring a suddenly respectful student, the brat spoke again. 'I know,' came the suave, wry voice Kumo had come to loathe, 'sensei's just seen himself in a mirror.'

As the muffled titters from the class grew louder, Kumo felt himself seeing red all over again. 'Bovino!' he yelled, whirling round and opening his eyes and glaring furiously at his least favourite person in the whole world, who sat in the middle of the class.

Bovino Lambo was, easily, the most popular kid in the year, and he knew it too. He lay, lounged in his seat, with his feet in their fancy Italian shoes up on his desk. One arm was in his lap, languidly holding his mobile, while his other was resting on the chair of the girl next to him, who was far from looking like she minded. His black hair was just tousled enough to seem nonchalant without looking messy, and his ridiculous cow-print shirt stuck out from his uniform. He stared up at Kumo with one sparkling green eye, the other closed in an affectation which the teacher had quickly decided was one of the most pretentious and demeaning things he'd ever come across.

Lambo had been crossing him (and everyone else) since the day he'd arrived, tall and skinny yet with a grace that let him pull it off; flagrantly disobeying uniform regulations in favour of his rather more…_. flamboyant e_nsemble. And yet - and this was the part Kumo couldn't work out - no one else seemed to mind! In fact, they were all charmed by the vile menace! It seemed Lambo had taken a dislike to him solely, for all the other teachers praised the little twerp to the skies. Yet in Kumo's classes, the student took great delight in criticising his dull manner and ugly appearance, running rings around the slow man with his quick wit and sharp tongue. Kumo himself was rather touchy about his general lack of aesthetic appeal, charisma, or talent, and he did not appreciate being ridiculed in front of an entire class.

And now, looking into Lambo's smirking face, Kumo wondered why on earth he had decided a) to teach, and b) to return to Namimori Middle.

The first was more of a mystery than the second. Kumo could trace some of his happier memories back to his time as a Namimori student - 'The Golden Years', as he called them. Back then, he'd been part of the popular group - he'd played sports, hung out with the cool lot, and generally been a lot higher up the food chain than he currently was. In truth, of course, he'd only ever been one of those nondescript lackeys who hung around with the more charismatic lot, but, in his mind, he fondly remembered the days where others had moved out of his way and girls had flocked to him. Ok, not flocked, exactly, but the rejections had definitely been less harsh and biting.

It was high school, he reflected ruefully, where things had changed. For starters, he was in a different class, and none of his old 'friends' could be bothered to keep in contact with him. And, unlike most of the more popular guys, he hadn't improved with time: his face had gotten squarish and his eyes became small and piggy. All of a sudden, he didn't fit with the popular lot anymore, which changed his whole outlook on school.

Before, his dismal marks had been excusable, as he had played football and swam for the school. And besides, he'd never been the worst - that had always been Dame-Tsuna. But now, suddenly, Tsuna was in a different class, and Kumo came under full scrutiny of the teachers, who had no patience for the arrogant child. What was more, his sporting talent ran out, and he was informed that he wasn't at the necessary level to play or swim in any of the high school teams. In short, he'd turned into the Dame-Tsuna of the class, though thankfully he'd never wound up running around in his underwear. But he ate lunch on his own. He got called 'the Baka'. Whenever he saw his old friends, they'd stroll past without acknowledging him, and he'd duck his head and scowl.

It would have been better for him had he just accepted the new role and perhaps gained some empathy for others (a certain dame brunette came to mind), but that was not what happened. Kumo was convinced that he was still something special, and that he ought to be recognised as such. In fact, he developed such resentment towards school in general that, instead of sensibly moving on, he went straight into teaching and back in to school, due to the warped idea that he could somehow change things, change his past. And where better to go than the place where he had been best accepted?

However, he was starting to learn the hard way that the past was better left alone. Why oh why, he mused, had he been dealt the wild card that was Lambo Bovino? He would have been alright but for that devil-child. His other classes were suitably awed at his extravagant tales of when he was at Namimori - he'd taken at least one lesson near the beginning of term to nostalgically tell every class of his 'reign of wonder'. In reality, most pupils were somewhat less than impressed, as the rather pudgy man in front of them went on about his large circle of followers (all the popular kids); the girls who liked him (virtually all of them, apparently); and the people who were afraid of him, like Dame-Tsuna, the useless idiot who ran around in his boxers yelling things like 'I am a pencil.'

Oddly enough, Kumo thought, frowning, it was after that that Lambo had started to go out of his way to make life hard for him. He didn't bother to wonder why though.

It was while he was in the middle of these thoughts that he noticed how loud the class had gotten. Looking back down at Lambo, he saw him make a hand gesture that he couldn't see, and then quirk an eyebrow surreptitiously in his direction. The girl at whom the gesture was directed glanced quickly at Kumo and started giggling. Kumo boiled internally. So. Yet another joke at his expense then. Well, enough was enough. He was done with putting up with the brat's idiocy. It was time to call home.

Since Hibari Kyoya, the demon prefect, had left, biting wayward pupils to death as a method of punishment had drastically lost popularity. Instead, it had been replaced with the slightly more mundane (but almost as fear inspiring) parental visit. If a pupil was obnoxious, or a repetitive trouble maker, their guardian would be summoned and the pupil would be criticised in front of the whole class. At little harsh and degrading, some thought, but the fear of being humiliated in front of their parents and peers kept most children from stepping too far out of line.

Kumo hadn't actually had to do that yet, but Lambo certainly deserved it. And so it was with no small amount of internal glee that the teacher said, quietly yet firmly, 'Bovino, I'm calling home.'

The class was instantly still. All chatter died away, they stopped fidgeting - the annoying group of girls at the back ceased their endless giggling - and they all stared, wide eyed, at Kumo. And then, just as quickly, all of their eyes flicked to Lambo. Kumo couldn't exactly blame them for being slightly nervous. They'd only ever heard overblown rumours of the horror that was one of Namimori's harsher punishments, and Kumo thought he could almost sense a warped sense of anticipation in the room. Resisting the urge to rub his clammy hands together and cackle, Kumo looked at the chosen victim to see how he was taking the news.

If he'd expected a student paralysed with fear (and he had been hoping), he was sadly disappointed. Lambo looked less than disturbed. In fact, Kumo thought he caught a glimpse of satisfaction on the teen's face, which was a little disturbing. Obviously the moronic child hadn't heard right. Well, he'd better make it clearer then.

'Lambo-kun,' he sneered playfully, the childhood bully emerging from his tone, 'I will bring your parents in to school. They will learn all about your dismal behaviour. And, what's more, I'm calling them this afternoon. Do you have anything to say?' The sudden anger in Kumo's voice was low and real, and many of the other students shrank from it.

Lambo, however, did not. Instead,with one burning green eye fixed on Kumo the entire time, he slowly and deliberately put his mobile on his desk, swung his feet back onto the floor, pulled his chair in, and sat forward, resting his elbows on the desk. His face showed nothing but antipathy, yet there was an intensity in his eye that gave Kumo shivers. And then he said, with complete nonchalance, 'So do it then.'

It took all of the unfortunate teacher's willpower not to physically recoil under the crushing waves of satisfaction coming off the pupil. Kumo couldn't help but wonder why on earth Lambo would be happy about this - it was almost like he'd been hoping for it. Perhaps, he mused, Lambo thought that this would get him suspended for a bit. Well, he'd soon learn the truth - he'd just have to work harder in the future.

Spinning round to head for the telephone on his desk, he picked it up and quickly dialled a number - the school office. 'Can I have Bovino Lambo's home contact number?', he asked, scribbling it down on a scrap piece of paper. 'Thank you.'

Turning back to the seemingly spellbound class - if only they could be this quiet all the time - he asked, 'Will it be your mother or your father I'll be speaking to, Bovino?' He hoped it would be the mother - the boy was such a pansy that Kumo reckoned he was spoilt rotten by her. It would be fun to destroy the image of her 'perfect' child.

But Lambo said, casually, 'Neither.' Then, before anybody had time to respond, he continued. 'I haven't seen my parents for over ten years.' He spoke boldly, seemingly not bothered, but Kumo could see the rest of the class sighing in sympathy. He ground his teeth, frustrated. Sob story or no, Lambo Bovino was going down. 'So,' Kumo said, impassively, 'Who _will_ I get if I call this number?'

The brat shrugged. 'I don't know.'

'What?' Kumo was disbelieving.'How can you _not _know who your guardian is?'

'I don't really _have _a guardian.' Lambo explained, 'I have a Family.' Kumo could somehow hear in Lambo's voice that this was Family, not family, although he couldn't understand the difference. 'And,' Lambo continued, 'Everyone in it tends to be pretty busy. So…. I'd guess that number will take you to some random subordinate somewhere.'

Kumo was slightly disbelieving. He could guess that Lambo was on the wealthy side, but something about this whole situation didn't make sense. 'But Bovino,' he asked, eyes narrowed, what happens if the school _needs _to contact your…._family?' _

Lambo laughed, a mocking laugh. 'I can contact them if needs be. And if I'm not in a state to do so, I _highly _doubt that anyone else will be.' Great, Kumo thought, yet another ambiguous statement. Yet another mystery. He was sure Lambo was deliberately complicating things to make himself sound superior; after all, no one had _that_ confusing a family situation.

But then, he also knew that Lambo was, for all his faults, very honest. And therefore, calling the number the school office had given him seemed redundant. It appeared that, to get anywhere with the wayward cow, he'd need to talk to the kid's mysterious 'Family'. He groaned, feeling a headache coming on. Even when he was punishing him, Lambo always had the upper hand. Well, not this time. This time, he was going to insist that he got his way. And that meant…..

'Bovino, I'll need the number of a family member, **now.'**

Lambo's head was bowed, so Kumo couldn't see the flash of triumph that showed on his normally apathetic face. In fact, Kumo thought the brat was finally being submissive. This opinion was encouraged by Lambo saying, meekly, 'Whose number would you like?'

Kumo's face obviously showed his confusion, so Lambo elaborated. 'I have six family members,' he explained, 'But my nii-san is the one you'd probably want.' Kumo briefly wondered why Lambo was being so helpful, and the nagging sense of unease that he'd been feeling for a while heightened. But, he ploughed on regardless. 'Fine,' he exclaimed, a little impatient. 'I'll need to speak to him.'

With one of the condescending expressions Kumo so despised, Lambo scrawled a number, from memory, quickly on a piece of paper, which he then passed to the slightly overweight teacher. It was for a mobile. Shrugging off the sense of doom inexplicably hanging over him, Kumo moved to the telephone, and, with the eyes of the whole class on him, dialled the number. As it rang, he ruefully reflected on how stupid he'd look if it was fake, but he could hardly stop now.

The phone rang once. Twice. And again. Kumo found himself suddenly nervous for no real reason, and he sort of hoped that no one would answer. But that was not to be. Kumo heard the phone being answered at the other end, and then there was a calm, 'Bongiourno.' The person who spoke didn't sound hesitant, or curious, or uncertain, nor did he show any inclination to ask who was calling. Kumo found himself at a loss as how to proceed, especially as, he suddenly realized, he didn't even know the name of the person he was speaking to. But, after it became obvious that the person was waiting for him to speak, he moved on relentlessly. 'Am I speaking to the brother of Lambo Bovino?', he asked, rather cautiously. 'Who is this?', the man countered, unusually defensive. Kumo had the distinct feeling that he was talking to someone who was unused to being crossed, and he gulped a little. After all, weren't the Italians famous for their crime syndicates?

He hastily dismissed such foolish ideas. Odds were that this man was just as much of a prat as his little brother. 'I'm Orochi Kumo, Lambo's home room teacher. Apparently you're the person I need to call about his behaviour?' Yes, thought Kumo, that sounded good. Nice and authoritative - no nonsense. The mystery man on the other end seemed less impressed. 'Oh _damn_', he groaned. And then, before Kumo could be properly taken aback, he continued, 'Look, I am very sorry about Lambo, but we are rather busy here. Can you please contact the number we gave the school? Lambo shouldn't have given you this number at all.' If Kumo had been listening a little more closely, he would have heard the genuine exhaustion in his quarry's voice; as it was, all he heard were rather condescending excuses. So, Lambo's brother was too proud to deal with him in person, was he? Well, as far as Kumo was concerned, that's what he'd have to do.

'I'm afraid,' he began rather icily, 'that I need to see you personally. You see, from what Lambo's told me, I gather it wouldn't be much use to call the number you gave us. You'll need to drop by this afternoon.' He smirked. He didn't care how wealthy Lambo's family was, he would get his way, and his revenge. The other man's response, however, was unexpected. 'Fine,' he snapped, sounding like his calm had finally broken. 'Fine, I'll be there. I'll be there in 5 minutes, so tell Lambo that he'd better have a good explanation for himself.' Kumo heard the phone being snapped off, and frowned. No wonder Lambo was so rude, with a brother like that. Ah well, he'd got what he wanted.

'Your brother said he'll be five minutes, Bovino,' he said sadistically. 'He sounded pretty annoyed, and he told you that you'd better have a good explanation for this.' The rest of the class collectively gulped, wide eyed. Lambo, however, looked the most scared of all of them. In fact, just for a second, Kumo saw that both of the brat's eyes were opened in shock. 'Tsu - nii, here….now?', he breathed. Kumo practically squirmed with happiness. This would be good.

'So, Bovino,' he said, 'where are your parents, if it's just you and your brother?' Lambo, who seemed to be suddenly shifty and nervous, said, 'Tsu-nii isn't my real brother. I just call him that.' The class looked inquisitive. Kumo was ready to tear his hair out. What the hell was with this family? Why couldn't he just get a straight answer? 'OK, then what's his name?' he asked, 'so that I know what to call him.'

Lambo regained some of his earlier composure, and Kumo saw the sides of his mouth twist up into a smile. He fixed the teacher with a steady one eyed gaze, and said, lightly, 'Sawada Tsunayoshi.'

There was silence in the class, and then it broke out into mutters.

'Wasn't that…..'

'Sensei was saying….'

'….completely useless…'

'…Lambo's brother?'

Kumo wasn't surprised that they recognised the name - he had gone on about the useless Tsuna in many of his nostalgic rants. But he found that he didn't know quite how to react. Surprised - yes, he was definitely surprised. But his startled brain quickly started making connections, and they made sense.

Lambo was Dame-Tsuna's adopted brother. Lambo had been nothing but rude since the time he, Kumo, had mentioned Tsuna. Lambo deliberately wanted his brother and teacher to meet - why? To show off? Kumo almost laughed. As if the most useless person he'd ever known could amount to anything. Though…. It was true, the man that Kumo had spoken to on the phone sounded like someone he wouldn't want to annoy. If that was Sawada…..

Now that he reflected on it, Kumo realized that he'd actually barely seen Tsuna in high school. They'd been moved into different classes, after all, and Kumo had been far too busy wallowing in self pity to take into account what the other members of his middle school class were getting up to. Perhaps Dame-Tsuna had changed.

Kumo realized that he was getting nervous, and was trying to recall every time he'd slighted the other boy, in case it could be used against him. He frowned; what _was _he thinking? He was the one with the power in this situation; he could say what he liked. And, Kumo thought evilly, Dame-Tsuna would hardly know that Orochi-sensei, Lambo's home room teacher, was the same person as Kumo-kun, one of his old tormentors. The look on his face when he realized he was facing one of his old bullies would be priceless. In fact, the more Kumo plotted, the more he remembered his dame classmate tripping over, stuttering, and being pathetic - and the less he remembered of the ominous voice he'd heard over the telephone. No, Kumo decided, this wouldn't be stressful. This would be _fun._

Turning his attention back to Lambo, who looked as if he were bracing for some sort of impending doom, Kumo merely said, 'Ah, my old classmate, Sawada. Well, it will be nice to catch up, won't it?' Lambo snorted at his desk, but remained quiet, chewing his lip anxiously. And then, with a great crash, the classroom door was flung open, and a figure strode inside.

Kumo wasn't exactly sure what sort of entrance he had been expecting, but that hadn't been it. The Dame-Tsuna he had known would have tapped the door open, tripped on thin air, and stuttered a quiet apology. Patently, this Tsuna was rather different.

The first thing Kumo registered was how slight this Tsuna's figure was. Kumo himself was slightly conscious of his own extra weight, and this man's slim body - visible even through the suit he was wearing - just served to remind Kumo unpleasantly of the rolls of flab hanging off his own body. He could remember that Tsuna had always been weedy, but this man's shape spoke more of a good workout than it did of a lack of physical strength.

The hair, however….. Now that was the Tsuna he remembered. Wild, brown and spiky, smothering the head beneath it with an unruly fringe - yes, that was Tsuna alright. Yet…. Much as he hated to admit it, Kumo had to acknowledge that the guy had actually grown into his odd look; and with his good skin, defined features and large eyes he was actually quite handsome. With increasing irritation, Kumo was forced to realise that this Sawada Tsunayoshi outdid him by miles on the looks front.

Tsuna, it seemed, was in no mood to allow others to gawk at him all day. He turned his back on the gaping teacher, and scanned the class. His sharp eyes, narrowed in frustration, spotted a trembling cow in the midst of the class, and Tsuna strode over to the cowering Lambo with all the intent of the Grim Reaper on the prowl.

'Oy, Lambo!', he snapped, 'what the **hell **are you playing at? Do you _know _how much I have to do?' Stopping by Lambo's desk, he continued before the teen had a chance to reply. 'Ive got the Pavarotti, the Tomaso, and the Arabiata Famiglias on the verge of war in Namimori; Hibari is threatening to kill them all for threatening the place. I've just had a report from Fuuta saying that Mukuro has possessed someone inappropriately _yet again;_ not to mention the fact that they've found out that those mad followers of Innocenti _are _selling prototype rings to the Russian government. Oh, and Ryohei is in prison for his overenthusiastic cheering at the world boxing championships, so I'll have to organise everything from his bail to damage repayments.' Stopping briefly for breath, he continued, 'As you can see, I have rather a lot on. And now I find out that you've given out my number to your school teacher!? Lambo! What were you thinking?'

While the rest of the class - Kumo included - were trying to work out what in the world Tsuna now did for a living, Lambo replied, 'I didn't think you'd come immediately!' He looked cowed, the most unsettled Kumo had ever seen him, and his eyes - he'd opened both - were pleading. 'I just…..' He trailed off, glanced at Kumo furtively, then, seamlessly, slipped into speaking Italian.

Now, Lambo had no way of knowing that Kumo, had, in fact, studied Italian as an extra at uni. He was, after all, only a history teacher, and not a bright one at that. Kumo himself was surprised - he had only taken it because he knew a little Italian from a holiday, and he had needed some extra credit in his second year at uni. He had never thought that it would come in useful, but now it had.

Lambo was obviously saying stuff that he'd rather Kumo - and the class - not hear.

'Nii-san,' he was saying, quietly, 'do you know who that,' he nodded at Kumo, 'is?' Tsuna looked across at him, and Kumo found that he couldn't quite fathom the look in his eyes. Tsuna turned back to Lambo, and sighed, the anger leaving him. 'Yes,' he said, 'Of course.' Lambo, Kumo noted, looked surprised, so Tsuna elaborated. 'I ran background checks on the way here to make sure he wasn't anyone suspicious. He's an old classmate of mine, isn't he?' Lambo looked down at the floor, and Tsuna smiled, a slightly melancholic smile that was filled with understanding. Something started hurting in Kumo's chest. 'Lambo,' Tsuna said gently,'I can imagine what he was saying about me. And it means a lot that you try and stick up for me. But what am I supposed to do? Announce to him - and your class - that I'm a mafia boss? And put them in that danger? Or fight some poor, unprepared person to prove that I'm not useless anymore? I'd be the bully then.' He straighted up. 'I've moved on, Lambo. I don't bear anyone any malice from the past; there's no point. But thank you for being a good aniki.' Kumo wondered idly if Tsuna realized he had spoken the last sentence in Japanese, but he was a little too dazed at what had been said to give the matter any thought.

Tsuna was…..Tsuna was….. The whole idea was absurd. Everything his old classmate had said, everything he had done…. It was all crazy. Kumo would have presumed it was staged to impress him, but if it had been, why on earth would they have spoken in Italian? They'd have no way of knowing that Kumo understood it. And also….Kumo was no great reader of people, but he had heard the sincerity in every word that Tsuna had said. Now, looking at the man who he remembered so clearly as a boy, Kumo had a hard time reconciling the two in his mind. Here he was looking at someone who'd grown up, who'd moved on. Tsuna was obviously powerful _- mafia powerful_, his mind inserted - but more than that, he carried himself with a quiet confidence, with the air of someone who knew his limits, and who'd experienced many spectrums of life. With a pang, Kumo realised how petty he seemed in comparison, desperately clinging on to the past.

Tsuna coughed and straightened his tie, interrupting Kumo's reverie. 'Orochi-sensei?', he said, more stating than questioning, 'I'm very sorry about Lambo's behaviour. He won't do it again.' Kumo nodded dumbly, and Tsuna continued, 'If you'll excuse me, I'm very busy, so I'll need to go now.' Then, more quietly, 'It was nice to see you again, Kumo-kun.' Just a soft statement, but one that reached into their shared pasts, and subtly showed that Tsuna remembered him, and remembered him well. Kumo swallowed, and time slowed a little, suspending the class in a frozen moment as the two looked at each other, one agitated and the other calm. Then, without waiting, Tsuna swung back into movement, spinning towards the door and flipping out a mobile in one graceful movement. 'Ah, Mukuro,' he said, 'what have I said about possession?...Well…' And with that, he left the room, his voice trailing off as he moved down the corridor. And then he was gone.

The class sat in a stunned stupor. Kumo felt, inexplicably, as if he had been dismissed, and he just sort of stood, unsure what to do. After a few moments, the class started to wake up from the spell of Tsuna's atmosphere, and they began murmuring, softly, to one another. Lambo remained silent in the centre of the class, his head down. And as Kumo looked at them, as they muttered amongst themselves that, 'Sensei was lying about school all along,' and that, 'If that was the school loser, I'd love to see one of the popular kids'; he suddenly thought, 'What the _hell _am I doing here?' He seemed to see, in a flash, how pathetic he was; how unhappy he was making himself. How pointless what he was doing was. And above all, how truly insignificant everything he had done proved to be. And, although he didn't like it, he did feel as though he was seeing the truth, possibly for the first time in his life.

'Ummm….' He said to the class, who were starting to eagerly crowd round Lambo, asking for explanations, 'Just work from your textbooks for now.' And he made his way out to the roof for some fresh air, to think a bit.

Kumo handed in his resignation the next day, to the delight of all the students. He, personally, found that he didn't care what they thought anymore. He never wanted to be in a school again. And so he moved, and got a job as a curator in a small-town museum, which was relaxed and interesting and didn't require talking to children. He also took up walking - hill walking - and lost the few pounds he'd gained in high school. After that, he suddenly found himself the object of interest of the museum receptionist, a bespectacled girl with bright eyes, and the two settled down rather happily. Kumo never forgot about the mafia, and his old classmate, though it wasn't as if he had much opportunity to be involved (nor did he want to be), and at times that whole day in Namimori seemed like a dream. It was only ten years later, when he was in his thirties, that he encountered the mafia again.

He'd gone on holiday to Italy. Risa, his wife, was two months pregnant with their first child, and he'd wanted them to have one last trip to themselves. And, well, he'd always had a fondness for the country. They were in a small town on the outskirts of Florence, and having a lovely time, looking at the countryside and generally being tourists.

But, on their second last night, Kumo heard sirens screeching in the darkness as he sat, reading, in the lounge of their hired house - an unusual occurrence for a town as sleepy as theirs. He noted that they seemed to be coming closer, and, stepping outside, idly wondered what they might be. All of a sudden, a helmeted figure on a large, powerful black motorcycle raced around the corner into their road, the sirens sounding ominously behind them. It was some impressive driving on the part of the cyclist, for the cobbled roads were narrow and slippery. Kumo realised that this was a chase, and that the motorcyclist obviously didn't know the town very well. For the road he'd driven into was a dead end. Screaming to a sudden halt in the face of running into a house, the rider leapt off their bike and looked around frantically for somewhere to hide, as the lights of the pushing police cars came into view. Although the ornate black helmet that he was wearing obscured his face, the rider was illuminated starkly under one of the dim street lamps, allowing Kumo to seen the dark jeans, the black jacket - and the cow print shirt poking out from underneath. Instantly, Kumo knew exactly who he was looking at.

Without thinking, he acted. 'Oy!' He called, beckoning, 'Here!' The motorcyclist listened to him, and ran to his open doorway. Pulling the door shut, the two of them watched through a crack as the police cars arrived, checked the abandoned bike, and then zoomed away. The man let out a sigh of relief, and turned to Kumo, who was still wondering in amazement how small the world was. 'Grazie,' he said, nodding. Then he looked at Kumo, properly, and stiffened. Both of his emerald green eyes widened in shock, and he hurriedly pulled off his helmet, revealing a shock of black hair. 'Eh….' he breathed, recognition in his eyes, 'Oro…Orochi sensei?' He looked older, and his hair was longer, but there was no mistaking it - this was Lambo alright. Kumo laughed inwardly. Oh, this was brilliant. This was wonderful. Revenge, he decided, was sweet. Raising one eyebrow, he said nonchalantly, 'Still raising hell, eh, Bovino?' The look of sheer amazement on Lambo's face was enough to set him off laughing good naturedly, and, after he had recovered (which took a while), Lambo joined in.

They talked late into the night - Kumo found that they had quite a bit in common, and that Lambo had grown up to be charming company. They exchanged stories, compared lives, explained everything to a disbelieving Risa; and generally had an enjoyable time. And, though Kumo never saw Lambo again after that evening, he did receive the most amazing hampers every Christmas, which all arrived with no card but a small stamp of a cow on every one. He always attributed the turnaround of his life - when asked by friends and family - to a combination of Sawada Tsunayoshi, Bovino Lambo, and the Italian mafia, whereupon most people decided he was joking. But, in truth, he was deadly serious. Who knows how long he would have remained unhappily clinging to the past, flogging his guts out as a teacher, and slipping slowly into obesity and depression, had it not been for Lambo's timely wake up call? And though the students of Namimori fondly remembered that day as the time that 'Orochi-sensei got scared off' (it became a legend), Kumo always thought of it as one of the better days of his life.

**Well, this took a long time! What did you think! Please review and tell me - I'd also love suggestions for other scenarios. Additionally, if anyone does know any canon classmates, I'd love to know who they are. I'll try and get the next chapter up by next Monday - I've done my English coursework for now so should be able to work a bit faster. Thanks for reading, and remember - please review!**


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